The burial

She slept in my palms and softly whispered—
Her weak wings soaked and sickened by the rain. 
In salty tears dreamt to death she withered, 
This white fragile fairy of mine were slain. 
Last night's sudden squall left her splendour wrecked; 
The petal-piercing tempest had her thrown. 
Though chest-heaving anguish indeed I lacked, 
I did wish I could have her wreckage sewn. 
Yet, incompetent and clumsy I was, 
I could only mount her a modest mound
In a little garden—'Goodbye, goodbye.'
I wished her nether haven would be found. 
'Chance I would miss her, I'd foretell it so, 
But I had to turn 'round, and let her go.

Dale Chou
2001-02-05